You Stole my Heart Today

(to my 21 month old Aaron)

Today was perfectly ordinary. We had no pressing appointments, no snow and nothing all that surprising happened. So, we spent our time completing old projects, doing the usual mom jobs, and stretching out sweet moments with each other--something I hope we can always do with our family.

You woke up when you usually do, around 7:15am and said “mama!” with expectation in your voice. I stumbled to your room, squinted in the dark for your floppy blonde head of hair and unzipped your crib tent. I reached in to feel your strong little hands reaching back to me. I pulled you from your lair and you nestled your head into my neck. I patted your back and used my toes to sweep little cars out of the way back to my den. You took your spot on my pillow next to Dada and reached for my hair as I curled up around you. Back to sleep you went and I, trying my best not to fall off the bed, closed my eyes. I heard you breathe slowly, occasionally suck on your nini, and was startled, then saddened for a moment by the sound of dada’s alarm. I snuggled closer to you and let the chimes sing be back to sleep.

Dadda woke me with a sweet kiss and I reminded him to grab a bagel on his way out the door. Most mornings you demand a bagel and “ceam cheese” for breakfast too and you have to eat it whole, like dada. But, this morning we had life cereal and you loved it. You even kept your spoon upright in your mouth most bites, resisting the urge to turn it prematurely upside down, depositing the cereal onto your lap. You requested our breakfast book (as usual) and we read all about Michael Finnegan, The Old Woman in the Shoe and The Grand ‘Ole Duke of York. You’re getting very good at a lot the rhymes, filling in the blanks as we go along.

We did our listening play, cleaned and packed the stroller for our run to the library. Yesterday your favorite word was “No,” and you always say it at least three times in a row. But today when I said it was time to go running, you ran right to the door, put on your own shoes and requested “nanola” as your stroller snack. You munched on it all along our route to the library, occasionally commenting on the cars and construction equipment. We arrived just before story time and just in time to run around a table with a boy dressed as superman. You made me laugh as you imitated his high shoulders and tucked arm swivel. You watched him so intently that you bumped into the table a couple of times. You still look at me to make sure you’re ok, and you were, so I laughed, then you laughed and continued flying around the table. When story time began the first book was “Baby Bebo bird,” and you insisted on standing right next to the reader to proclaim what the zoo animal was and what sound it made. Then we sang the 5 little ducks and you enthusiastically joined in with the appropriate actions, sounds and facial expression. You talked about the baby Bebobird’s “beebobobebebebobeebobobeebobobeebo” all the way home in the stroller.
Dada called when we got home and he was on his way home for lunch. You took the phone from me and talked to him, taking turns and dropping in a few true words every now and then. I laughed at how you tilted your head toward the phone and marveled as you mimicked my intonation. When dada came through the door you shouted with excitement, grabbed his finger and pulled him back to your turf and showed him all of your sweet disappearing tricks. You tuck your hand into your sleeve (or a car, or motorcycle, etc) and then say, “Where it go?...(dramatic pause and puzzled expression)...Dare it is!” Self-approving, cleaver giggles follow and I laugh out loud every time. You came up with that one on your own. When I said it was time to eat you pulled dada to the table saying “eat eat eat with dada…with mama.” And when we finished I told you it was your nap time and you protested vehemently with your “nononono,” but buckled when I swooped you into my arms and gave you your nini.

While you were asleep I hung up shelves in our laundry room. You woke up and we cuddled for a moment on my bed until you tickle my nose with my hair to signal me that you’re ready to roll. You think you’re so funny when you do that. I think you’re funny too. You helped me hang up one last shelf in the living room and it took all the self control you could muster no to pound the hammer on the wall. You settled for poking holds in a cardboard box with the screwdriver. When we finished we headed out to play. You put on your own shoes again and then brought me mine. Somehow we moseyed over to Dada’s “fool” where we surprised him, then tossed a few rocks. We also had a lot of fun talking about the cars and who owns them. Every grey colored compact car is Molly’s (our friend and speech pathologist), and the red cars either belong to Dada or Grandpatty. You said “bus” so well and spotted a few cars that look like Nana’s.

We went home and started dinner. You played contently with your tractor and motorcycle until dada came home to entertain you. Dada thought it was funny to tell you to spank my bottom, and you thought so too. After your shenanigans you two read books until dinner was ready. We ate, then watched the dancing show for a bit. You imitated their moves, spinning round in circles with your eyes looking in the opposite direction. It was quite funny and very charming. When we told you it was time to read scriptures you pulled out your Book of Mormon and began jibbering. Every other phrase you stopped to look over your shoulder with a proud smile, then Dada and I would take our turns. When we finished we knelt at the couch and prayed. Some nights you follow dada’s words with a sweet, high pitched prayer tone and say “Amen” with enthusiasm. Other nights (like tonight) you end up standing on my calves and laughing as you slap my back. Either way, at the end you know it’s time for bed. You kissed Dada, then curled your head around my neck as I sang your bedtime song on the way to my bedroom. Then you give me your cochlears and dive into my pillow. We snuggled for a few minutes and you played with my hair, flipping the ends between your fingers. Then I scooped you up and took you back to your crib. I think you like your little tent—thank heavens. You sleep much better now that you know you can’t escape to my room in the middle of the night (though I appreciate your dangerous attempts to do so).

I love you. I can already see your legs stretching and feel your mind growing and it amazes and frightens me. I can’t keep up with you, but I love trying. My dad use to tell me that some days are diamonds and some days are stones—usually on the stony days. I used to think it was my dad’s way of telling me that “the sun will come out tomorrow.” But as my mom would attest, diamonds are stones/stones are diamonds; they’re all rocks—some are just valued more than others. The neat thing I’m discovering with you, Aaron, is that my days don’t have to sparkle or shine to be valuable. That’s not to say that I don’t love my diamond days, but with you somehow my dull and even stony days are worth more than I can explain. Thank you for making so many of my days ordinarily perfect.